


Rise and Shine

by hanschen



Category: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanschen/pseuds/hanschen
Summary: Jonathan knows college will be better than high school, but he’s still anxious. Is he going to be able to finally live a “normal” life with “normal” friends, just like his parents seem to want, or is he going to be able to follow his dreams and go to beauty school?His goal of normalcy seems farther away than ever once he finds that his primary source of advice is his favorite childhood toys that have come to life.(AU with a fantasy edge)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you were around for my space fic, I assure you this does not have any gruesome injuries in it  
> .......................... for now
> 
> Here's some AU things to keep in mind:  
> \- I know Marlboro College and Branson, MO are real places, but I'm giving them makeovers  
> \- I'm redoing his parents too. I don't actually know what they're like.  
> \- I guess that's it for now. Enjoy

_ You've watched your father plough the fields with a ram's horn _  
_ Sowed it wide with peppercorn and furrowed with a bramble thorn _  
_ Reaped it with a sharpened scyth, thrashed it with a quill _  
_ The miller told your father that he'd work it with the greatest will _  
_ Now your watching's over you must play with girls and boys _  
_ Leave the parsley on the stalls _  
_ Come and buy my toys _

\- David Bowie, "Come and Buy My Toys"

* * *

Jonathan Van Ness had been dreading so many things about his first days at Marlboro College. What if there were supplies he needed for his classes that he didn’t even know about? What if he and his roommate didn’t get along? What if his skin dried out instantly in the crisp fall Pennsylvania weather?

The one thing he didn’t dread, however, was getting his side of the dorm room exactly how he wanted it.

He knew he should have been out getting groceries, or figuring out where his first classes were, or at a new student orientation or something, but once he had started unpacking, he just couldn’t seem to stop.

The Christmas lights were hung in a perfect rectangle around the window. He hadn’t met his roommate yet, and didn’t know anything about him, aside from the fact that his name was AUSTEN KNIGHT as it said on his austere rooming assignment packet, but he prayed Austen was the kind of guy who let him keep the lights up. Their light amber color was flattering for all skin tones. Especially if you were naked, and there were no other lights on. Or so Cosmopolitan magazine told him.

As he stood on his bed to glue pink pastel stars above his bed, he stopped to wave his hands a little bit, desperate to get that tingly nerve feeling out. This was college, and he was away from his hick hometown, and Ellen DeGeneres had just come out a few years ago. He had a shot at actually sharing a bed and an intimate moment with a handsome boy. He had been waiting years, or at least since the first time he jerked off to the thought of men—after watching Jurassic Park at a neighbor boy’s house (on a forced casual hangout session coordinated by their well-meaning parents), he went home and had his first orgasm. Was it to the thought of kissing that handsome archaeologist with the angry eyebrows whose name escaped him, or was it to cuddling and telling stories of childhood trauma with Jeff Goldblum? He would find out soon enough, thank GAWD.

The stars were done. The lights were on. His clothes were all hung up in size order on the minuscule clothing rack that Hurley Dormitory Hall provided (he would have to go out and get a second, as he could pretty much feel in his skin the clothes wrinkling still in his suitcase). Otherwise, he seemed to be done unpacking. He literally patted himself on the back as he walked over to close up the plastic bin his mother had bought for him for moving purposes only (too ugly for public storage, even she agreed) so he could throw it deep under his bed.

Oh. Right. He forgot. His toys.

They were at the bottom of the bin. Funny, as he didn't even remember packing them. It must have been a reflex, his inner child throwing them in before anything else. _How rude of my inner child_ , he thought. _They_ _must have gotten all crushed._

As he pulled them out, he cringed—they had been a little damaged. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you guys.” The first thing he pulled out was a wind-up toy he had named Bobbers. It looked like one of those Playmobil figurines, but bigger—spiky plastic blond hair and big sky blue dots for eyes. A little painted on smile. Even after all these years, if he spent enough time winding it up, it could walk across the span of his entire bedroom and never stop. Until he hit the wall, which made Jonathan laugh every time. He always used Bobbers when things seemed bleak and boring (which was every day in Branson, especially in the winter, especially since high school started). But had he used it at all in the past year? The thought of graduating must have been keeping things a little more bright.

He put Bobbers on the ground and spun the little crank on his back. The crank was once silver, now a dull dark gray from years of fingers turning it around and around. With just one turn, he heard the doll release an unpleasant little crack noise, and he quickly lay it on its side. “You need some recovery time, buddy. What about you, Anthony?”

Next he pulled out his marionette puppet. It was a miniature, not a full size one, and when standing only came up to his knee.

As a kid he used to love when Anthony was closer to his size, the size of a little brother he could make do whatever he wanted. He often grew impatient trying to use the wires to get Anthony to move in a certain way, but it was a welcome distraction when something really nasty had happened to him that day. His stepfather yelling at him for forgetting a chore. Someone calling him a fag. A counselor telling him he was going nowhere. When that last thing happened, just six months ago, he came home from school and pulled out his Anthony puppet, but only felt control when he threw it on the ground in a pile of bent wood limbs and a blank painted-on smile. He put it on the shelf and didn’t touch it until he packed for college, realizing he didn’t want to actually damage it.

But he had. As Jonathan stood up and tried to get the puppet to do so too, he realized one of the wires had been cut. Anthony’s left leg dragged like it was dead. “Yikes. That’s not cute. Oh and your face is all dented!” Anthony’s face had always been the feature his parents commented on the most. _Jonny, be careful with his face. Jonny, stop playing with his face. Leave his face alone, Jonny—it’s beautiful. Someone must have spent hours painting it._ “I’ll… fix it somehow. I don’t know. Maybe there’s like a woodworking place around here.”

He carefully set the broken Anthony on top of his desk, the one in front of the window. Or at least he hoped that would be his desk. The natural lighting would bring his skin some very welcome Vitamin D.

He heard a little croak from the bin. Take-Care-O’-Me doll must need some attention. Jonathan dug him out post-haste.

The Take-Care-O’-Me Doll hit the market when Jonathan was getting just a little too old to be playing with dolls. It was a smash hit for Christmas that year—it came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, and it had a pull string that spouted out phrases meant for building confident children in touch with their emotions. Kids on the playground would quote the commercial constantly. A string would be pulled, and you’d hear, _I am worthy of love._ Pull it again and hear, _A smile is the best accessory._ Pull it a third time and hear, _I believe in myself and that’s all I need._

A seventh-grade Jonathan walking around Walmart saw the shelf where they had been nearly cleared out—except for at least a dozen of the version modeled as a young black man. Even young, Jonathan realized how wrong and racist that was, and begged his mother to get him one. “Oh Jonny, aren't you getting a little old for this? I haven’t seen you play with Anthony for months. What would you need ANOTHER doll for?” When he explained that the Take-Care-O’-Me Dolls had been doing such a good job taking care of children, and now it was this special one’s time to receive love, his mother sighed and put it in the cart. He would pull the string over and over for years to come, until he could start hearing the phrases inside his head whenever he looked in the mirror or walked down his high school hallway. He hadn’t needed to actually pull it for years (although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t pull it a couple times when he sat alone at home on Prom Night, watching _The Real World_ ).

But now he wasn’t pulling the string… and it kept stuttering out some words. Jonathan sat on the edge of his bed with Care-O-Me in his lap. “You got things to say, huh, friend?” It croaked a few more nouns out—“Love” and “Friends” were all Jonathan heard clearly. He put it against his pillows on the bed to rest up its voice, and said half a prayer that the voicebox wasn’t going. He didn’t know how he could possibly replace it. 

He had one toy left. He reached into the bin and pulled out a ceramic figurine that at least his inner child seemed to have taken the time to wrap in a towel. But was it enough? “Oh please don’t be broken. Oh please, Tanveer. Please.” Tanveer was his good luck charm, a ceramic doll gifted by his grandmother; she had it sitting in storage from when she visited India years ago. He had beautiful, finely sculpted porcelain features, including a tall lump of silvery-painted porcelain on his hair like a pompadour. It was Jonathan’s favorite thing about it, and he dusted the head constantly. There didn’t appear to be any cracks. “Oh, wow. Thank goodness. Let’s check under your—oh wait oh FUCK.” He lifted up the shiny red fabric of what Jonathan always assumed was his sari, and there was a deep crack in torso. He took off the sari entirely. “I need glue. Fuck. I need glue right now. Right now.”

“I don’t think I have any,” said a very sullen-looking boy who just walked into the room. Did he look so sullen, or did his eyebrows just look very sad, heavy, and dark, under a mop of light purple hair? “I am chewing some gum though. Will that work?”

Jonathan laughed, but stopped as soon as he realized that this guy wasn’t laughing or smiling. “Oh my god. Are you Austen? Hi I’m Jonathan.”

Austen shook his hand. “Just so you know, they’re misspelling my name on all paperwork here. It’s A-w-s-t-e-n.”

“Oh, okay. Awsten. AWH-sten.” He wanted to keep saying it to see if Awsten preferred any particular pronunciation, but his attention was already on something else.

“So you’re Jonathan and uh… who’s this on my desk?”

“Oh. That’s. His name is Anthony.”

“Our third roommate, I see,” Awsten stared deep into Anthony’s blank brown eyes. “Kinda creepy, yeah?” He took a look around the room. “Dig the lights.”

“Oh thank god because—”

“You got a few dolls, huh?”

“They’re just… you know, like memorabilia. I don’t like. Play with dolls.”

With a plop, Awsten let his band-patch covered duffel bag fall to floor. It seemed to be his only bag. Jonathan was suddenly very aware of the jumbo suitcase, large plastic bin, three plastic bags, and purple backpack filled with his things under the bed, and he hoped Awsten couldn’t see them. “So, Jonathan. If that is your name. They spell it right for you?”

“Yes. Jonathan Van Ness. You can call me Jon. Or J.V.N.” He had never told anyone to call him that before, and he had no idea where it came from. But he liked the sound of it. “JVN is kind of my nickname.”

“On that sheet, they also labeled what we get. Like that’s my bookcase over there… that’s my closet… and this desk is mine. You get the one in the corner. All your furniture is in that corner or on that side.”

“Oh. Okay. No I didn’t see.” He carefully moved Anthony to the slightly dusty corner desk. “I’m not one for labels anyway.”

“Noted. Aw fuck, I forgot to bring a pillow.”

“Take one of mine.”

“For real, dude? I can also jack one from the common space.”

“Yeah. I’ve got like four and they’re all from Walmart. I don’t like Walmart anyway. It’s new millennium. It’s time to treat our employees right.”

Awsten nodded at him, but still didn’t smile, as he accepted one of the pillows, tossing it on the middle of his bed. “Thanks. So, JVN. You don’t like labels. You don’t like Walmart. You don’t like playing with dolls. What do you like playing with?”

“Hair.”

Now a shadow of smile crept on Awsten’s face as he unzipped his duffel and dug out one black flat sheet and a neon green comforter, and threw them on the bed. No fitted sheet. “I always switch up my hair color like once a… day or so. Whenever I get bored. I get bored a lot. What you got your hair in there, a, uh… bun?”

“Yeah, just because I was fixing up my room,” Jonathan released his hair. He was dying to flip it, but Awsten didn't seem to be type who'd be impressed with a well-rehearsed hair flip.

“Whoa, dude. Long fucking hair. I’ve never seen that long hair on a guy. Rock on. Well, my friend Otto, I guess he has long hair, but he has curly hair so you’d never know.”

“I’d love to see that. Honestly, long naturally curly hair is so beautiful. I want to learn how to style that just to help make every naturally curly person see their natural beauty.”

“Well, you’ll get your chance later. He’s in our hall somewhere.” Awsten stuck his head out the door. “OTTO. HEY. HEY, FAGGOT.”

With the last word, Jonathan froze, sitting up at a very straight ninety degree angle on his bed. Someone yelled back at Awsten and he left, letting the heavy dorm door slam behind him. The door slam seemed to suck the air out (along with Jonathan’s hopes at a built-in new best friend in a roommate), and he suddenly felt very cold. Shivering, he got up to check the thermostat, but he couldn’t find it on all the walls. He lay down on his blue tie-dye bedspread and willed the shaking to stop.

He stared up at the pink pastel stars and pulled his hoodie strings to it closed up on his face until he couldn’t see the stars anymore.

Why did he think this was going to be different just because he was out of Branson? Just because he was living with people his own age instead of his parents? Just because he willed it to be?

He felt something lightly tap his face. Also, why did he assume his glue would work on these stars?

Oh wait. Glue. For the stars. So he did have glue. Damn, he was so resourceful. It wouldn't work on plaster, but maybe it would work on porcelain.

He untied his hoodie and sat up, looking for the star that fell, but he couldn’t see it. Just Care-O’-Me, who had fallen over. Jonathan sat him back up—“I know you can sit up. I sit you up all day every day.”—and jumped out of his bed to look for glue. “I’m gonna save you, Tanveer!”

He found the glue on the floor and went over to where he left the dolls on the floor originally, but didn't see Bobbers right away. “Oh no. Bobbers. Where did you—”

 _Smack!_ Bobbers had been walking. He hit the door and fell over backwards.

“What the hell? I don’t remember cranking you that much.” Jonathan got up and put Bobbers on his desk next to Anthony. “I know, you want to go party with the cool boys. Too bad because y’all are the ONLY fucking friends I have. So you’ll have to stay put. And now you, Mr. Tanveer.” He picked up Tanveer carefully. “You really are on lockdown my friend. I’m going to put some glue on you and then we’re going to stand you up and you’re never going to leave this desk until this crack is sealed up. Got it?” He sat in the uncomfortable wooden desk chair and started rubbing glue on the crack. “This is really no bueno. You need something better. Ugh. Just put your clothes back on. I’ll get back to you later.” He put the sari cloth back on Tanveer and stood him up between Anthony and Bobbers.

He lay back down on the bed and stared up into the stars for yet another realization.

He was talking to his dolls.

An entire college of people out there, a new roommate, at least ten other people in this hall alone, and he was choosing to talk to his dolls.

Of course this time would be no different. He was doomed to a friend-less, and worse, BOYFRIEND-LESS existence.

He took the Care-O’-Me and threw it over on the desk. It crashed into the wall, knocking over the others. Jonathan gasped, remembering that he had just tried to repair the already cracked Tanveer doll. He couldn’t look—surely it was a pile of porcelain pieces now.

“Oh fuck! I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!” He pulled his pillows over his head and started crying. Even through the pillows, he could hear laughter in the hallway. He suddenly regretted giving Awsten his fourth pillow. Now what the hell was he going to do with a fourth tie-dye pillowcase anyway?

He suddenly felt very tired. Not surprising, considering he had lugged all his possessions by himself from a Greyhound bus up to the fourth floor of the dorm, and decorated his side of the room, and was in a new time zone on the east coast. He reached for the doll reflexively to clutch it as he slept, but remembered he threw it just moments ago and started crying again. He hadn’t needed to sleep with one of his dolls since he was in elementary school. Now he wanted to, but frankly, he knew he didn’t deserve to.

Just before he fell asleep, he could have sworn he heard the Care-O’-Me doll say, “The only way out is through!” but he knew he hadn’t pulled the string, so he chalked it up to someone in the hallway with a similar voice, and prayed that maybe that person would be his friend soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan had set his alarm for before dawn so that he could have ample time in the bathroom before his nine AM class, and never hated himself more than when his alarm blared. He yearned for a radio clock of some kind, knowing this would be easier if he could get up to the sound of Whitney Houston.

He let his hair out of its protective nighttime bun and watched Awsten for a minute. How he longed to be like that—sleeping diagonally across the bed, one foot dangling off, blankets every which way, naturally full eyebrows, heterosexual, without a care in the world.

He picked up his shower caddy, stocked with all his shower products and everything needed for his morning moisturizing routine (so it was very heavy), he stepped on something sharp. “Fuck ouch fucking Jesus Gay Christ, what is—" It was Bobbers, on the floor now, up against the door, as if he had been wound up and let go. Jonathan wondered why he hadn’t heard this process in the night. “Oh, what happened to you, Bobbers? Did someone else wind you up?”

“Shut up, bro,” Awsten muttered, half asleep. It was the first time anyone called Jonathan bro. He thought he would like it, but now that he heard it, he hoped it was the last time, too.

* * *

Jonathan had plenty of time to ponder the great questions of the universe in his two hour morning sociology lecture. Mostly he was wondering why anyone would ever get a perm, and why was Bobbers on the floor that morning? The only possible answer was that Awsten must have wound it up, and then had the nerve to leave it there. Straight boys really were the worst, and Jonathan kicked himself a little for wondering why they would ever be friends.

Lunchtime alone in the cafeteria was even less fun. He was pretty sure there was a group of girls talking about him, looking at him, whispering and giggling the whole time. He roasted them and their salads and smoothies in his head, wanting to know why their most talkative girl would dye her hair such an inky black and why she would get such a deep fake tan (though he had to admit this did make her blue eyes pop. _You win this round, bitchy clique._ )

He had seen a flyer for cheerleading tryouts, and after his second class, Intro to Theatre 1, he walked over to the gym they were happening in. He was a cheerleader in high school, much to his parents’ chagrin—obviously that wasn’t what they meant when they said he should try attending a few football games. At the dinner table, they would ask how “practice” went, but never seemed to be able to say what kind of practice it was. And even if he had finally nailed a standing back tuck, he would only ever say, “Fine.”

But when he got to the gym, in his lavender sweater and black Target sweatpants, he suddenly realized that he didn’t need the humiliation of a tryout to know he wasn’t making this team. Every single person was wearing professional athletic wear to show off how little body fat they had. They were doing multiple side aerials across the gym, completing tumbling sequences quadruple the length of what Jonathan could do on his best days. And the bored-looking girl behind the table, next to the coaches, was the same fake-tan, blue-eyed, black-haired girl who laughed at him in the cafeteria. He left after only thirty seconds in the gym.

When he got back to his room, looking forward to a night of eating peanut butter straight out of the jar and catching up on _Sex and the City,_ the absolute first thing he noticed was that now Bobbers was gone entirely.

He took a deep breath and looked around the room. It hadn’t fallen behind any furniture. It hadn’t wound itself up and took a walk under his bed or desk. He lifted the covers to Awsten’s bed to make sure he hadn’t stashed it in there, yearning for a pair of gloves. 

After a moment of following the sounds of straight men yelling and electronic music down the dorm hallway, Jonathan found Awsten in a dorm room that was impossibly messy for one that had only been occupied for a day or so. He sat next to a skinny guy with a skullcap pulled over a mess of curls that Jonathan would give anything to deep condition. Both young men had their eyes glued to the screen, some sort of N64 fighting game.

“Hey, Awsten?” Jonathan stood in the doorway, not wanting to step inside and subject any more senses than necessary to this room. He got no answer and tried again. “Awsten. I’m missing one of my… figurines. Do you know what happened to it?”

“Oh, one of those dolls? Nah. I stepped on one of them by accident when I left. My bad. But then I put him back. He was okay.” Awsten didn’t turn around to look at him, but their third companion sitting on the floor did. He had hair he had to flip out of his eyes to look at Jonathan. His eyes were tired, pale blue, and really beautiful, but Jonathan had just about had enough of beautiful blue eyes now to last a lifetime. He hoped his future boyfriend would have hazel eyes or something.

“How do you know it’s a him?” said Skinny Curls. Then he and Awsten laughed in a way that Jonathan really hated.

Just when he was close to yanking every dried-up, jar-dyed hair out of Awsten’s head, Flippy Hair said, “Maybe someone stole it. You can ask Rob if he’s heard anything.”

“Who’s Rob?”

“Our R.A., bro,” Awsten said. “He’s on the first floor and he looks kinda like David Bowie but from the Midwest.”

Jonathan wanted to correct him using the term “bro” (as they obviously were not bros), but he was too fascinated with that description.

He made a beeline for the first floor, noting a vending machine with Pop Tarts in it, but only stopping when he saw an open office with “Resident Assistant” written on a piece of copier paper tacked to the door. Jonathan poked his head in and asked, “Rob?” but he knew he was in the right place when he saw an exceedingly pretty pale man with rockstar-wavy blonde hair smile back at him.

“You must be Jonathan. Come on in, have a seat. I’m so sorry, I’ve been trying to go around and meet every resident. You’re the last on my list, but your classes intersected with mine today.”

This was confusing. Rob seemed about ten years older than him, judging by the stubble and attractive smile lines. “You’re in school here?” Jonathan came in and hesitantly sat down. This room was a little too warm, and smelled like firewood. Was Rob a witch?”

“Yeah, I’m in my last semester of nursing school. What are you majoring in?”

“I’m undecided.”

“Got it. No problem, lots of students are. More than you think, probably. What are you interested in?”

“Um…” He wanted to say hair, but didn’t want to talk about Rob’s hair—it was the first hair he had seen at Marlboro that was better than his own, and this was distracting him. “No, I just… can I ask you something?”

“Anything, I’m here to help.”

“I think someone stole something from my room.”

Rob’s smile disappeared into a look of concern, with his pale eyebrows knitting together. “Oh no. Did you ask Awsten about it?”

“Yeah, and he said he didn’t know anything. One of the other boys said to come to you.”

“I’d agree, I don’t think Awsten seems like the type to take anything. What was taken?”

“A figurine. I have these like… collectible… toys, I guess, they are. Yeah, they’re toys.” He felt his face flush, sure Rob was judging him, even if he just kept that same sympathetic look. “It’s a wind-up toy. I’ve had it for years.”

“Strange, I haven’t seen that around… well, I’ll definitely keep an eye and an ear out for you, and I’ll let you know ASAP if anything turns up. In the meantime, let’s fill out a form to get it on record.”

Now he blushed so hard he even felt it in his ears. No way was he getting it put down on paper that he was the only eighteen year old for miles around that insisted on bringing a wind-up toy to college. “No, that’s okay. It’s not a big deal, actually.”

“But you said you had it for years. If someone finds it on campus, I’d be sad if you didn’t get it back. I really aim to keep all boys in this dorm as happy as possible.”

He rolled his eyes at that phrasing. “It’s really not like that. It’s just a toy.” He felt a pit in his stomach widening up when he said that, but fought it.

“Well… okay… but it would be great if we could still get this filled out and turned into campus police. If there are thefts, it’ll help to keep a record.”

“There’s no thefts. There’s just me. And my stupid toys. It’s fine.” Now he realized he was not only flush, but also tearing up. It really wasn’t a good look for him, so he got up to leave.

“Jonathan, if something is wrong, let me help.”

He turned to leave, and made eye contact with a large wooden cross on the inside of the door. As if he needed confirmation to say, “I don’t think you would know how to help me.”

Rob called out with something like, “I know more than you think,” but it was through the door that Jonathan shut behind him.

* * *

_Grrzzz-click-clack. Grrzzz-click-clack. Grrzzz-click-clack. Grrzzz-click-clack._

“Now that’s just not right,” Bobbers said to himself, then perked up at the sound of his voice. He had never heard his own voice before. He had heard Jonathan’s voice a lot, and Jonathan's mother’s voice, and over the past few years, his stepfather’s voice. Years before that, he heard Jonathan’s father’s voice, which was mostly yelling, and he was thankful that wasn’t heard anymore.

His own voice was better than he thought it was—deeper and smoother than he even hoped for. But then again, anything was better than the noise that echoed in his head when he was sent to move around the floor. His entire thought process was an endless series of Grrzzz, Nnnzzz, and Sshhhfff depending on what type of floor he was moving on. Maybe a Scritch-Scritch of his feet if they were moving along tile. This click-clack was different, and as he walked along, he tried to figure out where it was coming from.

Surfaces were really all he knew. He had favorites, and least favorites. Carpet was soft to fall on, but if he fell forward, it was unnerving to stare into the threads, and sometimes his feet would get caught if it was thick shag carpeting. Good thing Jonathan’s mother had better taste than that. Wood was his favorite. So easy to move a long distance on.

This concrete was interesting. It made rough noises. Was it just because it was so hard that he was making those click-clack noises?

Was it someone else? Not likely, as when he passed by people, they usually looked at his back and said some variation of “What the fuck?” not Click-Clack.

He experimented by steering himself into grass, which he had only walked on a few times previously. Jonathan got yelled at for getting Bobbers dirty, and that was the end of that. Shame, because the noise of grass was a very satisfying surface to walk on. It crunched with every step, sort of like a conversation.

The grass did not stop the Click-Clacking, so he was starting to worry. Where was that coming from? A friendly-looking girl with long white-blonde hair passed by, so he asked her, “Excuse me Miss?”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“When I step, do you hear that clicking?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell where on my body it’s coming from?”

He walked forward a couple steps to give her a demonstration. She said, “Huh!” and circled him to observe. When she got to his back, she said, “Oh, wild costume, dude! Is this for like, one of the drama department shows?”

“Is it coming from my back?”

“You guys do cool stuff. I’ll be sure to check it out!” She waved goodbye and walked away.

“Wait! Can you just help me with—” He tried to move faster to follow her, but then this made a new Click-Clack-CcRAcK noise. Something threw off his balance and he fell forward. The Grrrzz noises continued, but he had nowhere to go, as he didn’t really know how to push himself back up. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little gratitude—so much time away from the grass, and now this was the surface he was destined to lie facedown in, for as long as it took as Jonathan to find him.

And Jonathan would find him. Hopefully.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day when Jonathan woke up, he grabbed his shower caddy from his desk, and went into the shower. It was not as clean as it should be, and it was gray tile, but he was coming around to the idea that the grubby stall was his safe haven. He reached down for his shower cap and felt cloth. He looked down to see the Care-O’-Me doll had somehow made its way into the caddy and was staring up at him. He shrieked and threw the doll out into the hallway.

Without even rinsing off his Bath and Body Works shower gel all the way, Jonathan quickly dried off, threw his clothes back on, and marched back into his room to check his desk. He was too aware of how much he smelled like Cucumber Melon.

He looked at his desk and was not surprised, but pissed to find that now not only was Bobbers gone, but Anthony was too. He stomped out of the room, uncaring about whether or not he woke Awsten.

He made his way down the cement stairs toward the first floor, aware that he needed to calm down, because the sound of his hot pink flip-flops slapping the ground was not making a very intimidating noise. When he opened the door to the first floor, he smelled something good coming out of the kitchen area but marched past it. He hadn’t had any reason to use the common kitchen area yet, and he wasn’t about to start.

He knocked on the resident assistant office door. Knocked again. No answer. Maybe it was too early for Rob to be up. No, impossible-- Jonathan hadn’t woken up so early that day because his first Tuesday class wasn’t until eleven-thirty. And Rob didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who slept in. Maybe he was in the kitchen. Jonathan poked his head in the very beige-colored tiled room.

It took him a moment to adjust to what he saw. There was a man about his age, about his height. He had perfect wavy brown hair on his head, as if someone had painted it on and applied a nice coat of gloss. His features seemed painted too—perfect nose, perfect eyebrows, perfect big brown eyes. And he looked familiar too, but Jonathan couldn’t place how.

He looked down at his outfit. A little white collared shirt, black shorts, shiny black shoes. Now he realized why he seemed familiar—that was the exact outfit his Anthony doll wore.

And sticking out of his shoes and sleeves were long, thin, black ropes. They lay on the ground behind him as he stood at the stove. Jonathan stepped forward and peered into the pan, which was starting to bubble. It smelled and looked like plain heated butter. Lots of it. There were still faint shapes of sticks. If Jonathan didn’t know any better, it seemed as if this guest was just melting three sticks of butter and nothing else.

The young man looked up from the pan, having not noticed anyone else was in the room until then. “Oh, hi Jonathan!”

“Do I know you?”

“Well, of course you do! I’m Antoni!”

“You’re… you mean Anthony?” This guy was dressed like his Anthony doll, had strings like him too, and even must have put makeup on to look like him. Wow. Jonathan had been at this college for all of one day, and already he had attracted _choreographed_ _bullying_. And even in a weird costume, this guy was the same level of hot that all his high school bullies were, so it made sense. He was beginning to boil over. He knew from unfortunate experience that very little good came of fighting back against bullies, but this was personal on a new level, and he hadn’t even done anything that weird yet. Except have dolls. “This can’t be real. Are you serious about this outfit right now?”

“Serious? What do you mean?” His perfect white smile faded and he looked down at his outfit. “This is the outfit you put me in.”

“NO, IDIOT, THAT’S THE OUTFIT YOU CAME IN,” Jonathan knew he was probably adding fuel to the bully flame, but that was a different insult, and he couldn’t let it go unaddressed-- why would he have kept his doll in such a BORING outfit if it didn’t come that way? “This is really nasty. I mean like, super nasty. How do you even have this much time on your hands?”

“What? For this?” He looked at the butter on the stove, which was starting to bubble away. He pushed around the hot butter puddle with a rubber whisk. “I always really liked when we watched cooking shows together. We saw a lot of Julia Child, right? I love her!”

That caught him off guard. He was struck with a sudden memory of being around eight years old, watching Julia Child videos with his mom, holding Anthony in his lap. She would turn to Jonathan and talk about all the dishes she would make now that his father was gone and she could cook what she wanted. The memory was so happy and hopeful he felt his anger fade a little, replaced with curiosity. “We didn’t even… do that that often… how would you… why would you assume that’s what I do?”

“Assume? I was there, silly.” Now the fake human Anthony stuck his finger in the butter puddle, reeling back when it sizzled. “Whoa! I’ve never felt that before!” The pan now sent off the smells of hot butter and a bit of wood smoke.

Jonathan cringed. “This is a lot of work for a sick prank. You know what? I actually feel bad for you. You must be a little sick in the head if you’re going to do weird shit like dress up like my doll and burn yourself. And research me extensively, except you failed because… you called him the wrong name when I came in.” Jonathan heard himself lose steam on that last sentence fragment. And his stomach turned when Antoni spoke again:

“That’s not the wrong name,” He turned away from the pan to stare deeply into Jonathan’s eyes. “That’s the name you always wanted to call me.”

“… That’s not true. Is it? No…”

“Yes, it is. When you first got me, you wanted to call me Antoni. With an ‘I’ and everything. You said that was a much prettier version of Anthony. But everyone thought you were being a cute kid who didn't really know how to speak, so they thought you meant Anthony. And you let them change it over time because you learned what happens when you try to correct adults. But you always wanted to call me Antoni. Which makes sense. Because that’s my name.”

Jonathan couldn’t say anything. He couldn't remember ever being left so speechless. What was there to say? Where to start? How could this guy have possibly known that about him? Were they related somehow?

Jonathan was cycling through all the different distant cousins he could possibly have in his head when the front entrance opened and Rob came in with a messenger bag, dressed in pale blue nurse's scrubs. “Hey, good morning, Jonathan! And I’m sorry, I don’t know you—who are you?”

“Hi I’m Antoni!”

Jonathan walked up to Rob. “Wait, if you don’t know him, how did he get in? Don’t we need keys to get in?”

“We sure do… you mean he’s not your friend?”

“NO he’s not my friend!”

“We’re more than just friends!” Antoni called out. “We know each other really well.”

Rob raised his eyebrows but betrayed no other signs of judgment. “Ah, I see. What are you making?”

Still grinning from ear to ear, Antoni looked at the stove for a few seconds, as if trying to come up with a name. Then he grabbed the box he had taken butter from and read it. “Land O’ Lakes.”

“Oh… okay. Well, have fun. Jonathan, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Anything to get him away from that stalker in the kitchen.

He led them to the living room area, to sit on an unpleasantly squeaky cray leather couch. “Listen, Jonathan. I know how hard it is. On top of being in a new place, you’re surrounded by guys who act like… well, like guys. I know what you must be going through.”

 _Ah, another speech from a preacher that will soon be about finding a nice wife and changing my ways._ He resisted an eye roll. “How can you know what it feels like to be me?”

“I do. So much more than you think. I know what it’s like to be one of the only… people like you for a mile around.”

Jonathan thought of that cross on the door, and how manly Rob seemed. He had calloused hands and seemed to wear only boots. He would never know exactly what kind of isolation Jonathan felt. “What kind of people? People with good hair?” Jonathan knew what Rob meant, but wanted to hear him say the word. He knew there were more people like him around in Missouri, and once in a while they tried to reach out to him, in doctor’s offices, in clothing stores, in gym class. But it didn’t count for much if they couldn’t say the word “gay.” He didn’t want to be the only one stuck saying the word.

“No, people who keep... _friends_ in their dorm overnight.” He turned over his shoulder and looked over the couch to catch a glimpse of Antoni, who seemed to be eating spoonfuls of hot butter from the pan with a blank look on his face.

“Oh no. He’s not my friend.”

“Sure, I get it. These things happen last minute sometimes. But if you want to keep a guest overnight, there’s this form that I have to sign at least two days ahead of time. And you should check with your roommate. Did you check with Awsten about this?”

“Check with me about what?” Awsten appeared in front of them in a Smashing Pumpkins tee and plaid pajama pants. He was holding the Care-O’-Me doll. “I found this in the hall and it was pretty wet… I just came down to tell Rob because I know someone’s been messing with your toys.”

“I’ll take that,” Jonathan snatched it out of his hand and popped up. “And I’m going to take my friend here.” He marched into the kitchen and grabbed Antoni’s hand. “And we’re going out for a little walk.” The three of them left out the front door.

“Where are we going?” Antoni asked, looking around once they got outside like he had never seen outside before. He looked up at the brick dorm building in wonder. His mouth was wide open and Jonathan could see he had a little snaggletooth. _If this guy wasn’t such a creep, he’d be really cute._

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going back inside to finish my shower. Then I’m going to class. Then back to my dorm. Where I don’t want to be messed with anymore. Please.” He thrust the wet doll into Antoni’s hands. “If it’s so important to you have a piece of me, just fucking take it. Stop going into my room. I’ll go to campus police if I see you inside this dorm again. I’m serious. This is some expel-worthy shit.”

“Expel-worthy?” He seemed very confused at that phrase.

“Yes, and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, so good luck getting home without notice.”

“I have to stay out here? Okay… it’s nice out, at least.” But his smile and snaggletooth were completely gone now. “Can I have some food?”

“No. Goodbye forever.” Jonathan slammed the door behind him and went upstairs to finish his shower, complete with a sizable anger-cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded this chapter with really not enough of a direction to go in following this which is a mistake but it's also a literal pandemic, I'm stuck at home and not given enough to do from work, so I kind of Don't Care but I will in like a month when I've lost control of this fic (lol i already did)  
> If you like this, read Peach, my QE Tantoni restaurant AU   
> If you are here from Peach, please comment on this fic for the love of fuck

“Do you think he meant that?” Antoni asked. “Do you think he meant goodbye forever? But he went back inside. How can he go back inside that building forever?” He was standing on the steps where Jonathan left him, peering inside a window into the common rooms.

The man standing next to him, a life-size version of the doll Jonathan had left with him, in soaking wet human-sized versions of his clothes (a red sweater and blue jeans), just looked at Antoni as he talked, with sympathetic eyes.

“But I get it. If I had as much food as was in the kitchen, I wouldn’t leave either. I would just make it all. All day and all night. Who would want to do anything else?”

“What are those?” asked a girl passing by with long, white-blonde hair.

Antoni turned to look at her. “Huh?”

“What are all those strings?”

“Oh, these?” Antoni tugged the ropes coming out of his limb. “These are mine. Well, actually they’re Jonathan’s. He controls them.”

“Wild! Is that some sort of BDSM thing?”

Antoni didn’t know what that was and stared back at her. “Do you have any food?”

“Yeah, I was about to go to the dining hall. I've got a meal plan card. You’re really cute. Do you want to come with me?”

“They have that? A whole hall to dine in?”

“You haven’t been? It’s great! They have a frozen yogurt machine and everything. Come on!” He stepped down the steps to be closer to her and she looked over his outfit. “Wow, the rest of your outfit is… kinda interesting, too. Is this another thing for drama club?”

“What’s that?”

“Like, the theatre people. There was this other guy walking around and he was doing a performance. Like he was walking around with this big crank thing in his back and asked me to look at it.”Antoni said, “Wow! That sounds kind of like our friend Bobby.” Before he was even done saying this, the living Care-O’-Me Doll came running down the steps toward the girl.

“Wow, why are you so wet? What show are you guys even doing that has all this different stuff in it?” He made a bunch of gestures to her, including a cranking motion, and gesturing to the rest of campus. She squinted and nodded, but soon said, “Sorry, I don’t get mime stuff.”

Finally, he huffed and reached up the back of his shirt. He pulled out a string attached to a little plastic pulley and gestured to her to pull it.

“Oh, is that a tag? Do you want me to cut if off?”

He cringed and grabbed it away from her. He handed it to Antoni instead, who pulled it and said, “This is super fun to pull! You should let me do this more often.”

As the string wound up back inside his shirt, he quickly said, “The guy with the crank, where did you last see him?”

“That little clump of trees and tables near the fountain.”

He ran off, dripping all the way.

She watched him go. “You guys have so much fun. I want to change my major to theatre.”

* * *

Just when Bobby was beginning to wonder if his new location (facedown in the grass) was forever, someone came up behind him and attempted to pull him up by the crank. They quickly let go when he let out a new crack sound.

“Oh my back,” he said. That crack had sent some sort of sensation he didn’t like throughout his plasticky body. He was pretty sure the sensation he had in mind was called _physical pain,_ but he didn’t have much to base that off of, other than what Jonathan described after a lengthy cheerleading practice.

His assistant didn’t say anything, but let out a huff. He grabbed Bobby by the hips and attempted to pull him up. This didn’t work so great either, probably because they were both unfamiliar with centers of gravity and the way joints worked.

Finally, he sort of rolled Bobby over on his side and sort of yanked him up by the arms.

“Ouch, dude.”

He was staring at Karamo. Karamo’s face was already a mask of strain, trying to pull his friend up, and now he looked down at Bobby quizzically.

“'Ouch'? That’s like, what people say when they’re in pain.”

Karamo dropped him.

“That was also ouch.”

Karamo sighed again. He looked down at Bobby, now on his side, and put his hand on his shiny bald head.

“Why are you wet? Hurry up and help me get up because I’m really curious about that.”

Karamo rolled his eyes at the order, but then reached down and winded up the large silver crank a few times. As soon as he let go, he reached down for Bobby’s arm and pulled him up. Once his legs started kicking, he was able to help pull himself up all the way up. Instead of standing still and getting his bearings, he just started walking forward, back to where they came from. Once Karamo started following, Bobby reached behind him and pulled the foot-long string coming out of the back of his neck. It doubled in length when he pulled it.

As the string began to go back to its original length, Karamo said, “When Antoni got up, he accidentally pushed me in a shower basket. And he didn’t even stop to say sorry. Remind me to get him back with… I don’t know, a water balloon.”

“Don’t do that! He’s gonna swell.”

“No… you’re right. We shouldn’t argue, we need to stick together. It’s hard enough in--…” The string stopped trailing back towards his neck, and Karamo’s words trailed off. Bobby reached over and pulled it again. Karamo continued: “Hard enough to be in a new environment like this without needing to go out and find each other. Now he’s gone off to a cafeteria or something to look for food. Of course. And you—what were—” The string stopped, and again, so did his speech.

Bobby didn’t pull his string again. “Please don’t lecture me. I needed to get out and see what the rest of this place looked like. That dorm was just so… gray. Even with everything Jonny put up. I was going to wait to see if he planned to take us anywhere, but that didn’t seem likely.”

The tone made Karamo raise his voice. He gestured to his back.

“Are you going to lecture me?”

Karamo shook his head.

Bobby pulled his string.

“Just a little one. Just let’s all make sure to go somewhere with a partner from now on.”

“What about Antoni?”

“… Crap. We can all talk about this as a group later tonight I guess after--…” Bobby pulled his string. “After Jonathan comes back from classes.”

“As a group? What makes you so sure Tan is still there?”

“… Fuuuuuuuu--…”


	5. Chapter 5

_Nothing is going to pull my focus from this class._ On just the short walk from his dorm to the center of campus, Jonathan had made a new, wonderful decision: he was going to reroute his focus into getting all A’s. If he was going to get bullied, he might as well make the dean’s list while doing it. How could people torment him if he was cooped up in his room studying all the time?

He passed by the bookstore, which doubled as the closest thing this college was going to come to a school spirit store. A dusty mannequin in the window had on ill-fitting clothes with iron-on Marlboro College logos, along with a huge scarf with the logo knitted into it. The rest of the outfit would simply not do, Jonathan knew right away, but he loved a big scarf moment. _One thing is going to pull my focus from this class._

He had planned to stop for a coffee before this class, craving the look of Bedraggled But Mature College Student Sipping a Coffee Through Their Lecture. But since he was SO good at planning, if he made this scarf a quick purchase, he could still have time to get his coffee and go to class, and now a huge scarf would really make that tired-chic look complete.

He grabbed the scarf off a table and got in line behind a few people buying shapeless hoodies and basketball shorts with the school logo on it. While in line, he was aware of someone coming up to stand next to him. He assumed someone must be trying to cut, because he knew for sure he didn’t have any friends yet who would come up and talk to him. He wasn’t about to start a confrontation, so he kept his eyes straight ahead on the girl who was about to buy a sweater that would completely cover her figure.

Whoever was next to him said, in a clear, beautiful, manly British lilt, “You’re just going to ignore me while we stand here. Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

Jonathan clutched the scarf like a baby in his arms. “I don’t have any old friends here.”

“Oh love. Bite your tongue. If Antoni heard you outright deny you were friends, he’d be in a teary puddle on the floor. And we can’t have that. All his long, lovely strings will get all knotted up again. When that happens, it breaks my heart. Shatters it, really.”

Jonathan’s heartbeat sped up as he still refused to look to the side, but wasn’t really focusing ahead, as his brain was going through a series of memories like a montage. Throughout his childhood, he loved to put his dolls in certain orders on his shelves to see what order looked most beautiful together, most symmetric. He could never decide the order, but something warmed his little kid heart when his Antoni marionette would fall all over the Tanveer porcelain doll. Once, when he was in that awkward preteen stage where his hormones started raging (but before he discovered the magic of humping the edge of his bed), he remembered trying to make them kiss before dropping them, scared someone would catch him in the act. He never tried it again. Not because it felt wrong, but because it felt right.

Jonathan allowed himself a couple quick side eye glances. The most gorgeous silver hair, the most beautiful little face cut so neatly out of ceramic into a set of ideal features, and wearing Jonathan’s clothes. The outfit was something he’d never think to put together, but he was shocked at how well it worked—Jonathan’s jeans were too long for him, but he pulled them all the way up over his abdomen, and tied it tightly with a tie repurposed as a belt, and Jonathan’s lavender sweater was tucked in, but just in the front, to show off a figure so tight someone must have cut it out of fiery hot glass. “Let me guess. You’re going to tell me your name is Tanveer.”

“I like Tan, actually. It really makes quick work of it. I like to make quick work of things.”

“But you know that I also liked to call you…”

“Tanny! So sweet. A little saccharine for my tastes, but if it makes you happy? We’ll do just about anything. Except let you wear this.” Tan reached for the scarf in Jonathan’s hands. “It’ll simply DROWN you in fabric, and you’ve got to let this beautiful face show.”

Jonathan didn’t know where he got the anger (or martial arts moves) from, but he reached down and grabbed Tan’s wrists. He pulled them out of the line, and into a corner of the store, where medical students bought their scrubs and equipment. He pushed Tan up against a corner, between a wall of stethoscopes and a wall of face masks.

Tan didn’t look scared for even one second, just startled. Once he realized he was pinned, he laughed, a rhythmic cackle floating above them as Jonathan lost steam. Jonathan himself wondered if he would ever snap on one of these bullies, but now that he seemed to have won a fight against one, he didn’t know what to do. It also seemed like cheating, especially since this particular bully was a head shorter than him.

Tan finished laughing said, “Karamo always said you would find a way to control your emotions, but I secretly looked forward to the day you would just snap and punch one of those bastards in the face.”

Jonathan let go of Tan’s thin wrist entirely. “But you’re not one of those bastards. Are you?”

“You catch on so quick, doll.”

“’Doll’?”

“You don’t like that? Oh… I suppose that’s a better nickname for me, isn’t it?”

“Who’s Karamo?”

“You didn’t think you could just go around calling him your ‘Take-Care-O’-Me Doll’ forever, did you? What a mouthful.”

Jonathan stared at him, letting the pieces fall into place. “And Antoni?”

“That’s a much prettier name than that boring ‘Anthony’ drivel your mother tried to sell you on, isn’t it? I know you might have changed your own mind by now, but please consider going back to ‘Antoni’ instead. Such a pretty name for a pretty boy.”

“And…”

“If you call him Bobbers, I’ll smack you right on your gorgeous head. Just call him Bobby for God’s sake. We’re adults now, no?”

Jonathan didn’t verbally respond. Instead, he reached up, grabbed the collar of Tan’s hoodie, pulled it forward, and shoved his other hand down the front of Tan’s shirt. For a second, Tan finally looked scared, and Jonathan relished the feeling of scaring him. But he felt the same level of rush when Tan’s fear melted into another perfect shiny smile. “You always were a handsy child.”

Jonathan felt around. Tan’s chest was cold and smooth, for the most part, until—just as he expected—he felt a crack across his chest, a gap he could stick his fingers into. And when he reached inside the crack and felt around, he found nothing, just air. When he pulled out his hand, he felt a stabbing sensation, and dragged a small red stain on his sweater that Tan was wearing.

Tan saw the blood stain and let out a small gasp. “You really must be more careful, Jonathan! I’ve got all sorts of sharp edges. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to get this stain out for you in time.” He thought for a second before saying, “Not a waste, really. This didn’t fit you right at all.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I only seem to want to upload this fic one scene at a time and call that a complete chapter  
> Oh  
> well  
> Kudo, comment, I love it all, you get the gist

Jonathan and Tan entered Hurley Dorm at the same time. Jonathan was in a bit of stupor (half due to blood loss, half due to the realization that his childhood toys were alive and surrounding him) so Tan entered the dorm first, as if he was the one attending the school. Tan held Jonathan’s bleeding hand wrapped up in a scrap of the cloth of the university-logo scarf Jonathan looked at the in the store. Tan had ripped it up, and when Jonathan mentioned getting in trouble, Tan had said, “Please. Every scarf I destroy brings up the style quotient of this place by one percent. Give me a day with a pair of scissors in this store and it might finally look like it’s not living in the fifties anymore.”

Tan led them towards the bathroom upstairs, but Jonathan snapped out of his funk when something caught his eye in one of the open dorm rooms. Awsten was in there, his wet hair now a clean bleached whitish-blonde. He was playing video games again with his two friends, Skinny Curls and Pretty Eyes, and two other people. Before Jonathan could wonder when exactly Awsten ever attended class between Nintendo and dying his hair, he took a closer look at the two newcomers. He pulled his hand away from Tan and marched into the room. He stood in front of the TV. “I need these two gentlemen to come with me.”

“Bro, the TV, don’t block, bro,” Skinny Curls cried out, craning his head around.

Karamo got up, not seeming like he minded too much, since he had been sitting on the couch, happily staring at the controller in his hand like it was a baby animal, and not like he should have been pressing buttons. Now, standing, he put one happy hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. He turned to Bobby and made some sort of nod.

Bobby’s wide blue eyes darted between Karamo and the TV. He was handling his controller with expertise. “Karamo, come on. I’m winning.”

Skinny Curls said, “In your dreams!”

“They can stay, Jonathan,” Awsten said, transfixed on the TV. “Your friends are rad. Don’t you have class or something anyway?”

Fuck, that was true. Jonathan had abandoned his lecture to bring Tan back to his dorm. He didn’t know what time it was, but he had to have been at least half an hour late now.

Pretty Eyes didn’t just flip his hair away from his face, he actually reached up and pulled his hair away to be able to look at Jonathan’s hand carefully. Jonathan felt he would start blushing, until the guy said, “Dude, you’re bleeding. Kind of a lot.”

Now Karamo’s smile finally faded, and he took Jonathan’s hand. He pointed between them and then out to the hallway.

Jonathan cocked his head to the side. “Is there a reason you’re not talking?”

“There’s no talking in Mario Kart,” Awsten said, still watching the game, unblinking. Pretty Eyes had lost interest in Jonathan too, which he pretended didn’t devastate him.

“Let me see what all this Mario Kart fuss is about. Jonathan, dear, why don’t you let Karamo take care of you?” Tan stepped away from them and towards the TV. He called out over his shoulder, “Don’t forget to pull his string, Jonathan!”

“What does that mean?” Skinny Curls said. “Is that a gay thing?”

“No!” Jonathan shouted at the same time Bobby said, “Sort of.”

Awsten finally glanced up when Tan came into his vision. “Holy shit, dude, that hair color is freaking awesome. How did you get that?”

Tan picked up Karamo’s controller. As Jonathan let Karamo gently lead him out of the room, he heard Tan say, “Someone in Pakistan painted it on me a few decades ago.”

“… Dope.”

\---

Jonathan and Karamo had been in the bathroom for a few minutes. Karamo had washed his cut in warm soapy water and wrapped it up in some clean damp paper towels. He stood now, holding Jonathan’s hand, just tightly enough to add pressure, but not enough for it to hurt. Jonathan had a lot of questions – why was it so calming just to be in the room with this guy? He wasn’t even talking, so why didn’t it feel creepy at all? He was also very handsome, Jonathan noticed—smooth dark skin, a sharp jawline, warm eyes, eyebrows so precise it was like someone had sewn them on—so why didn’t he feel that familiar tug in his groin? The kind that always came with when a hot guy noticed him long enough to make contact? Why did he just feel that he wanted to hug this guy and cry on his shoulder?

And what did Tan mean by a string? He would start there, since the other questions were embarrassing, and Jonathan had his fair share of embarrassment in all the weirdness from the past day or so. “Tanveer, or, whatever, Tan said something about a string?”

Karamo looked him in the eye, as if bracing him for something. Then he reached up into his shirt collar and pulled out a long white string with a little tab on the end. Jonathan had seen the tab and thought it was a shirt tag or something. Now he realized that was stupid. He had only known this “Tan” guy for less than an hour and somehow already knew Tan would never let Karamo walk around with a loose tag hanging out.

“Let me guess, you want me to pull that?”

Karamo shrugged. This made Jonathan defiantly reach out and give it a yank. He expected it to come flying out, but instead Karamo just jerked half a foot toward him and the string lengthened. As it retracted back into his shirt, Karamo said, “It doesn’t have to be that hard… but I’m happy you’re getting some of that aggression out. I have other ways you can do that, you know. And I’m happy we’re able to talk about that now.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think—I mean, I don’t know what I thought. I thought you were just being mean to me.”

Karamo gave him a sympathetic glance and a sigh, but said nothing. Jonathan waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts and say something soothing. But then a few more seconds passed. Nothing. Jonathan looked at the tab in his shirt again and something clicked. “Can you only talk when the string is pulled?”

Karamo nodded, now avoiding his eyes.

“Jesus, why didn’t you just TELL me to pull it? Like, just manhandle me into it?”

Jonathan made sure to pull the string right away for Karamo to respond: “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know things have been changing very quickly for you, and I want you to keep as much agency as possible, and especially now, violence is the last thing you need. I know what it feels like to…” the string cut him off, hitting his shirt collar. Jonathan saw something like frustration cross Karamo’s eyes, if just for a moment. He pulled the string: “I know what it feels like to not be able to control something. That’s all.”

When he stopped talking, Jonathan pulled his hand away. “I think the bleeding stopped.”

Karamo didn’t wait for another string pull. He handed Jonathan a band-aid. Jonathan unwrapped it, put it on, and then reached up for the string again. He held the tab in his hand, said, “What’s going on, for real? Are you guys seriously working this hard to bully me? Or is this some weird way of being my friend?” He pulled the tab for Karamo to speak.

“We are your friends. We’re here because you need us. Same as always. But you’re in a new phase of life, and you need us in a different way, so we’re trying a new approach.”

Jonathan heaved a sigh. That just couldn’t be true. The real world wasn’t magic like that. Whatever these guys were up to, they weren’t going to just be honest about it, so what kinds of friends would they possibly be?

He wondered if his mother had something to do with it, if she had somehow hired friends for him—she was crafty like that sometimes when he truly needed it. He remembered once when he had told her about the first time he was ever asked out on a date in his sophomore year, by someone on the lacrosse team. Of course, he hadn’t told his mother about when he was actually asked out, he told her about when he found out he had been asked out as a joke, crying into her shoulder like he was a kid again. She hosted a date night for just them – a multicourse dinner, a movie in the living room, all wrapped up by his stepfather making a huge fire in the fireplace, using pictures he printed of the Branson High lacrosse team as kindling. Oh no – when was the last time Jonathan called his mother?

Jonathan looked up, aware Karamo was staring at him. “I want to pull your strings, but I have nothing to ask you.” They made eye contact for a few seconds, and somehow, Jonathan sensed a longing in his eyes. Or maybe they were already on that telepathic level of friendship. Whatever reason these guys were here, he decided it was time to accept it. “I could pull your string if _you_ just want to say something.”

A smile so big and bright covered Karamo’s face that it practically reflected off the dirty bathroom mirror. Jonathan couldn’t help but smile back as he reached over and pulled the string. Karamo said, “Jonathan, I think is the beautiful new beginning to an old friendship.”

Jonathan looked down. If he didn't have a hand injury, he would have been playing with his hair for the past ten minutes straight. It was always his go-to when he didn't know what to say, or even how to feel. “So what now? Should we play video games?”

“Well, YOU should go to class.”

“Okay, Dad.” He waved his hand. “It’s over anyway. I’ll just fail that class this semester. Everyone fails like one class first semester, right?”

Karamo rolled his eyes, then they popped all the way open, like he just remembered something important he had to say. He gestured wildly to his string. At the same time, someone knocked at the door.

“Oh fuck. That’s probably my R.A. Hang on.” To the door, with more than a little hostility, “What?!”

“Jonathan?” There was a soft, familiar voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. I don’t know what I did but I didn’t mean it. I brought you something. Please don’t be mad.”

First, Jonathan reached over to pull the string. “I don’t know who that is and I don’t care. What did you need to say?”

Karamo’s big bright smile had returned. “I think the answer to my question is right outside this door.”

Jonathan opened the door. Antoni was standing there, wearing a Marlboro College Cheer Team t-shirt he got from God knows where, with the front of all curled up around some huge bulge he was holding together with his arms, covering it completely. It made him look a little pregnant, except for the sliver of abs Jonathan could see under his raised shirt. He briefly wondered what kind of pervy marionette-maker would paint abs on his dolls, but just asked, “Oh, Antoni. What is all that?”

“I went to the dining hall with some people who were really very nice to me. They were in these funny cheerleading uniforms and they liked to laugh at everything I said. I liked them because you used to wear those uniforms too. And the girls took me over to show me how to get food from these weird countertops with all different kinds of food. They were being really kind and all, but I missed you. But I also remembered you said you didn’t want to see me again. You seemed upset. And I know food makes me happy. So.” He uncurled his shirt, dropping a gold mine of different kinds of food on the bathroom floor. Apples, oranges, bananas, cling-wrapped sandwiches, slices of pizza, loose cereal, a carton of milk, and a pancake. The cereal scattered. Antoni scrambled to pick it up. “Oops! I should have brought a bowl. But I did bring milk for it!”

Karamo dropped to help him pick up the food. Jonathan did too. They were quiet for a moment, until everyone stood up, an awkward amount of food in their hands and arms. Jonathan, trying to balance two apples, three bananas, and the pizza, said, “I reacted weirdly. I mean, yeah, this whole thing is beyond weird. But I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“That’s okay. You can if you want.”

“No, Antoni. Don’t let people yell at you. We’re in college now. We’re not letting people treat us like that anymore.”

This seemed to not really sink in, but he smiled a dopey, toothy smile. “Okay!”

“I appreciate you trying to make me happy. And I believe that that’s what you’re here to do now.”

He smiled harder, until he realized part of what was said and his eyebrows knitted together. “Wait… I tried but… I didn’t actually make you happy.”

“Food isn’t really what quite does the trick for me.”

Antoni thought this over, squeezing the pancake in his hand. “What does?”

“Should we go into my room and eat some of this food while we talk about?” Antoni lit up again. Jonathan didn’t really know who this guy was, but he knew he wanted that smile in his life long-term. He was so happy that bits of the pancake fell on the floor in crumbles. “Maybe you can throw that out first.”

He obeyed, throwing it into the trash can without a second thought. “I also had cookies but Tan took them before I got to this room.”

Jonathan turned around as they headed out of the bathroom. “Karamo, I don’t have hands free to pull your string, but you can come if you want.”

Karamo smiled and gave one appreciative nod, but also nodded towards the room where the Nintendo was. He ducked to head into that room on the way to Jonathan’s room. Jonathan heard appreciative shouts of excitement for both Karamo and his arm full of food. He realized Antoni was just holding one orange, and started to say something about sharing the load, but Antoni was so intently staring at the orange rind that Jonathan didn’t want to interrupt him. He seemed fascinated by the color and texture, stroking it, moving it around in his hand. It was cute until— _BAM!_ He walked into the wall.

“Oh, Antoni, babe,” Jonathan said.

“Haha, I’m fine,” He shook his head a bit and walked quickly to catch up and link his arm in Jonathan’s. Jonathan sort of hoped they could keep their arms linked together. Whoever this guy was—his mother’s hired performer, maybe some weird mentor program participant in the college, perhaps an outcast theatre kid—it didn’t matter for the moment. It was nice just to link arms with someone.


	7. Chapter 7

Jonathan’s alarm went off. He reached through his sleepy haze to snooze it. He hadn’t gotten much sleep that night, feeling closed in now that he had gotten four new roommates suddenly overnight. When the four grown men piled on top of each other’s laps on his dresser, they promised that when he went to sleep, so would they. Jonathan slept fitfully, trying to ignore the presence of so many other people, but assumed that they must have indeed gone back to some more unobtrusive form, since Awsten didn't seem fazed when he crawled into bed a couple hours after Jonathan.

When he reached out to press snooze for the second time, a cold little hand slapped Jonathan’s sleepy one away. He shot up to see Tan staring at him. “If you waste one more minute of this day, I’ll smack you harder than that.”

“It’s Saturday,” Jonathan muttered, but he was already swinging his legs over the side of his dorm room bed. “What are you wearing?”

“Your work overalls.”

“No, I know, I meant… why?” He wanted to kick himself for even bringing them, at the insistence of his stepfather. After all, he came here to escape everything about Mississippi, including excessive yard work and summers spent working on a neighboring farm.

“I want to show you that you don’t need to spend money on a whole new wardrobe. You just need to repurpose what you have.” Tan did look adorable, turning like a runway model in the long black overalls he cuffed in such a way that his short legs looked three inches longer, with one strap hanging off an unfamiliar white button down.

“Where did you get that shirt?”

“It belongs to your roommate.”

“Tan, no, we can’t take his stuff.”

“Relax, dear. I asked his permission. Of course he gave it, and then he wandered off to find the gym and brought Antoni with him.”

Jonathan looked over at the dresser. Karamo and Bobby were back to their doll forms, laying on the dresser. _That’s odd. So some of them can be awake at different times?_

Tan followed Jonathan’s gaze. “They like to sleep in when they can. Don’t worry, they’ll wake up when you need them again.”

“Um… okay. Can you… leave for a second so I can change out of my PJs?”

“That depends. What do you plan to change into?”

“I don’t know. My high school hoodie and my jeans, I guess.”

“See, Jonathan, that’s the problem. You should wear clothes because you want to wear them, not just because they’re _there,_ you _guess.”_

“How do you know so much about fashion? Weren’t you wearing a sari since before I even had you?”

“For your information, that wasn’t a _sari,_ it was a _dhoti_ , which is for men. And yeah, maybe I’m a little behind in fashion, since a certain someone named Jonathan Van Ness never educated me past playing _Sex and the City_ and _America’s Next Top Model_. Not that those aren’t lovely inspirations, but would it have killed you to have found something more directly related to Anna Wintour?”

“Sorry, but… how do you know Anna Wintour?”

“Because I’m a very good listener, Jonathan. Obviously. Please try to keep up. Now, these jeans are fine, a little loose on the fit, but what can you wear on top to spice it up?” Tan only looked through one of Jonathan’s dresser drawers before turning toward Awsten’s.

“Tan, I don’t think we should do that. I don’t want to keep borrowing his clothes.”

“Why not?”

“Well, we’re not really friends, and I don’t really like his style.”

“Fair enough. It’s not really my preference either. Very straight punk boy, which I thought we left behind in the seventies. But at least he has a certain style he likes for himself. You just wear whatever sort of works.”

“Maybe that’s my style.”

“Maybe try this,” Tan thrust a T-shirt at him, a pink and purple tie-dye. “Nice and colorful.”

“A little too colorful. Also if it fits Awsten, it’s going to be too small on me.”

“Or is it too big on him?” Tan darted over to the corner and wedged himself into it, like he was playing hide-and-seek. “Since you don’t have much in the way of closet space here, I’ll just pretend I’ve gone somewhere, and you pretend you’re in a dressing room.”

Jonathan pushed himself out of the bed. He didn’t mind the idea of a fashion show, honestly, and Tan seemed to be having fun, which made the whole thing seem fun. He just wished he had time to make coffee or something before it. He slowly pulled the clothes on.

“Love, when you come out, I want you to think of the most confident, stunning person you know, and pretend you are them,” Tan called out.

“The last time I came out, my stepfather asked me if I would consider going back in,” Jonathan said.

“What did he mean?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t bother to get clarification. I just said I needed to go do my chores and he said nothing and so I mowed the lawn and came back inside to cry into my grass stains.”

“I think I remember that,” Tan said over his shoulder, perfectly painted eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Can you not peek yet?”

“Why not? You’re dressed.”

“Yeah but this doesn’t… work,” Jonathan was trying to pull the shirt down over the waistband of his jeans. It wasn’t quite a crop top, but if he raised his arms, it was.

“What are you talking about? Of course it does!” Tan came over. He tugged on the shirt a bit, but then let it go. “You should ask him if you can keep this.”

There was a knock at the door. Tan called out, “Not now, we’re doing a fashion show!”

Jonathan came out from behind the curtain after quickly tugging a sweatshirt on over the tie dye. “Let him in.”

“Why? Your little Awsten person has a key and who cares about anyone else.” Tan sat on Jonathan’s bed, crossing his legs, so the complete opposite of going to the door.

Jonathan stomped over to the door, one part annoyed and two parts jealous of Tan’s confidence. He had only been seeing the human Tanveer for a couple days, but it seemed nothing fazed him. “It could be Rob.”

“Who the hell is Rob and why should I care?”

Jonathan opened the door. It was indeed Rob. He smiled at Jonathan, then peeked inside the room and nodded at Tan. “Hi there! I’m Rob. Rob France. I’m the R.A. for Hurley.”

Jonathan looked to Tan, expected some sort of sassy remark, but Tan sat, frozen, his legs crossed so hard they double-crossed, his foot tucking behind his calf. He was staring at Rob, big dark eyes darting from Rob’s hair, to his face, to his body, and back up.

Jonathan wondered if maybe Tan had short-circuited, but then remembered that toy required no mechanics. What was the porcelain doll version of shorting out? Getting dust inside his cavity? How the fuck could he fix that? “Hi Rob. What’s up?” Jonathan had a feeling his tone was rude, but he didn’t want Rob to stick around and ask questions about who Tan was.

“I was just wondering about… something I saw in the bathroom the other day. Do you want to maybe talk in private?”

“No, I’m good.”

“… What about your friend?”

“TAN!” Jonathan heard the sound of the bed clunk against the wall as Tan shot out of bed. He walked over, so stiff that it seemed as if his legs had become stone (again). His unbended arm shot out. “My name is Tanveer. Or Tan. I like Tan. Do you like Tan?”

“Hello Tan!” Rob eagerly shook his hand, pretending that wasn’t the weirdest intro he ever heard, and pretending not to notice as Tan’s face went from his usual pretty caramel color to dark pink, as if he had been given a bad new paint job. “I’ll call you that if you want. Both Tanveer and Tan are super cool, very interesting names.”

“Yeah. My friends are super cool and VERY interesting. No need to think too hard about it.” Jonathan said, staring at their hands shaking. Tan was also staring at Rob’s hand on his. “And whatever you want to talk about, I’ll probably tell them, so just tell me what’s up with the bathroom.”

“Well, there were a bunch of tissues lying around the other day with what seemed to be blood all over them. I just saw Geoff and he mentioned that your hand was bleeding when he saw you the other day. Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay… because you can come to me about anything… I mean that…” He looked down at his hand still in Tan’s. He looked up at Tan with no trace of annoyance, just friendliness. “You too. Any friend of one of my resident’s is a friend of mine.”

Jonathan had to resist rolling his eyes so hard it hurt his forehead. “My hand is fine. It was like one little cut. My friends helped me. It’s whatever.”

“If you’re sure… I have a lot of first aid experience if you ever need it, okay?”

Tan’s eyes went so wide that Jonathan was worried his eyes would pop out and roll around like marbles. “THERE’S A CUT ON MY CHEST.”

Rob put his other hand over Tan’s. “Make sure you get that looked at. We wouldn’t want you to get an infection on your chest. Pretty important area, right? If you don’t have anywhere else to go, and you need me to take a look, just let me know.”

Tan’s mouth dropped. No sound came out.

“I’ll get all the details on it and we’ll come to you with a full report.” Jonathan reached over and unlatched Tan and Rob’s hands and started to steer Rob out of the room.

As the door slowly shut on Rob, he called out, “You can get checked out for free at Health Services, they have a whole pharmacy and—"

The door slammed. Jonathan could faintly hear the sound of Rob sighing and walking away.

Tan stared at the door, so still and wide-eyed that Jonathan wondered if that was it for the Tanveer doll’s magic, if it was time for him to turn back to porcelain again. Then suddenly, he leaned back and said to the ceiling, “OH MY GOSH!”

Jonathan jumped. Tan had never raised his voice. “What, what, holy shit what? Are you okay?”

Tan started hopping up and down, arms waving. As he spoke, he hopped quick little paths between the bed and the door. It was the most limber Jonathan had ever seen him. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, who WAS that, WHO was that?”

“That was Rob.”

“He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen! Is he going to come back ever?!”

“Well, yeah… he’s the R.A.”

“What’s that?”

“Resident assistant.”

“Resident? So he LIVES here! That’s wonderful news!” Tan reached the bed again and threw himself on it backwards, kicking his legs around. They didn’t seem able to bend, but Jonathan still laughed at the childlike movement.

“Tan, I had no idea you were capable of having a crush on people!”

“Well, of COURSE, wouldn’t you? He’s so gorgeous!”

“I guess he is pretty… not really my type though.”

“What’s your type then?”

“My type is someone who also likes boys.”

This made Tan stop kicking. He lay still, deep in thought. After a moment. He finally said, “Well, I’m not a boy. I’m a doll. So I have a chance?”

“I hate to tell you, sweetie, but I don’t think that means you have a chance.”

“Why not?”

Something about this was making Jonathan’s heart swell. Was this what it was like when heterosexuals had to explain the way of the world to toddlers? Was it harder when they knew that was a little different? As he climbed into bed beside Tan, Jonathan felt a sudden pang of empathy for his mother. “I don’t think humans are going to want to be in a relationship with dolls, Tan. They’d have to explain it to their friends and family. If people knew you were a doll, he’d get weird looks everywhere he went. People would try to interview you for magazines and the newspaper and whatever. And how would you guys have children together? It’s just… not natural.”

“But that’s all the same for you, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve talked to me after school before, you’ve said you wished you had a boyfriend like me, but sometimes you’ve also talked about how you wish you weren't different because it wasn’t what God wanted. Remember, that one time, when you went to church around Christmas time and you came home crying?”

Of course he remembered, but wished he didn’t.

“You said how you wished you just could love a girl because that was natural.”

“I know, but I changed my mind. I think it might be natural for me to like boys after all. If it wasn’t, then I could just decide not to. But I can’t.”

“Well… neither can I. He’s too pretty. I don’t like his shoes. His boots are too dirty. But I like his hair. What else do you know about him?”

“Not much.”

Tan turned on his side to face Jonathan. “Tell me everything you know about him.”

“He’s from Utah.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s closer to Missouri than the place we’re in now. It has mountains, I think.”

Tan’s shiny dark eyes drifted away for a second, perhaps picturing Utah, though Jonathan imagined he had nothing to picture. Before he could ask what Tan was seeing, Tan’s eyes popped back over to him. “What else?”

“He’s Christian.”

“You’re Christian too!”

“Not anymore.”

“Not at all?”

“No. I decided I’m agnostic.”

“What in the world is that?”

“It means I don’t know what I am but I know I’m not Christian.”

“I didn’t realize it was an option to choose not to know.”

“He’s studying to be a pediatric nurse.”

“I know ‘nurse,’ but what’s ‘pediatric’?”

“He takes care of children.”

“That’s delightful!” Tan rolled onto his back and screamed that to the ceiling. “He’s handsome and he’s clearly such a good man. What else do I need?”

“Time, sweetie,” Jonathan sighed. Tan’s looked over at him again. “This is his last semester. He’s leaving in December.”

“What?! To where?”

“I don’t know. Back home to Utah, probably.”

“How can we get him to stay? If we had children around?” This next thought he said seemed to surprise Tan himself, as if it came from somewhere else, not his own magic porcelain brain: “I’d love to have children one day!”

“I don’t think dolls have children, Tan.”

“Why not? We’d know how to take care of them.”

Jonathan didn’t know how to answer that. There was too much to explain, none of it really worth saying. Tan looked away from him and up at the ceiling, into the plastic stars. Jonathan looked up at them too, enjoying the silence with Tan.


End file.
